That Awkward Moment when the Doctor was More Human than Rose
by SinkingintheAbyssofFeels
Summary: While planning against the Family of Blood, Rose Tyler works herself ragged to protect the human Doctor, yet fails to protect his most basic human needs. Meanwhile John Smith, far too curious for his own good, stalks Rose to a very familiar, very alien, blue box. Not even a month after they go into hiding. Human Nature/Family of Blood rewrite with Rose.
1. The Mystery of a Woman

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is Play-Doh. I do not own the Play-Doh. It is very fun to mold the Play-Doh. But BBC owns the Play-Doh.

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><p>Damn.<p>

Missed her again.

It's beneath him. Skulking about the halls. But blast it all, that strange, peculiar maid is nothing if ever moving. Skill and wit about her, she sweeps through chores with ease. Delivers his daily meals, and tidy's like the devils at her heels. Efficient. Tight-lipped. Professional.

He would say she avoids him.

Yet she never halts! With all she does she never falters in her tasks. It's near maddening.

But then he catches her unawares.

He keeps hidden, as if coming across a rare creature in the wild, and observes her. And she's off on a dream. Eyes gazing beyond blue skies into supernovas themselves as if contemplating why they burn. A tint of longing building behind caramel eyes. And he wonders if she wishes to touch the stars. Hold them dearly. As if they hurt.

It's times such as these that he's assured no one knows her better than himself. His family inherited her after all, and there's a familiarity that nurtures their kinship through this, he's sure. She promised to serve their family forever, and shows that even now as she faithfully follows him here to the small Farringham school, far from her dear mum back home.

Still he must say that there are moments when labels dictate nothing. She breaks the rules as if they were only words, nothing binding keeping her from acting beyond social norms. That maid will waltz into his room. Tired. Irritable. As if he's her escape she may freely impose on. As a school teacher far above her status he should be appalled. No call. No knock. Simply enter, sit, eat, drink, and talk.

Except he cannot find it within himself to mind.

Actually it's quite endearing that she find herself at ease with him. He rocks back in his chair, an amused smile spreading, as she vents. Openly trusting him not to judge her, only understand. And by some strange accounts he can empathize that the entertainment value for a maiden in an all boys school is as dreary as it sounds. In retrospect, what activities can be found in the general area that even he can partake in simply for recreational value? Chess? Despite the mountains of free time the educational staff has after hours, he can never find a good partner, because typically that maid very busy.

"The Matron plays chess." she had told him.

"Does she?" He answered inattentively.

And beyond the simple acknowledgement that the Matron plays, he never took into consideration that he could test the fact. Even after the maid rolled her eyes and told him to ask her for a game. Truthfully he was not interested in discovering the Matrons competitive side.

Games bring new faces out of all people. There are those who become blinded by the goal of victory, those who take every move into consideration, or those that expect a loss. And then there's that mad maid.

Oh she'll tease, but though her honey words are appealing, they sound only of empty promises.

Then when indulging herself the maid will always choose to eat a pear before him, laughing, and the meaning of her humor is beyond his comprehension.

Her radiant smiles reserved for him always teeter on the edge of something special, yet secret. Like an elusive answer in plain sight.

And it's times such as these when she wears a mask specially catered to him that John questions whether he really knows Rose at all.

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><p>AN

Yes, HN/FoB was all good and emotional in the series. Loved it. But does everyone have to take it so seriously? Not that I don't love the love, but the direction of the drama becomes so much of a repetitive roller coaster that it overshadows a lot of opportunities. So, here's my version. Which I hope will become more of a boat, ship, raft, thing. Nothing's really planned yet, so there's a slight chance of showers ahead.


	2. Patient

Four... five weeks.

Had time passed so swiftly?

A brief glance at the calendar informed him that, yes, it has.

Five weeks since they had arrived, as it neared September's end, Rose fell ill.

He's sure she thought him oblivious, yet he's indeed aware of how often she's left the school grounds. While, contradictorily, has completed her tasks diligently. He's often wondered where she receives this sudden influx of energy every morning. Surely tea, while a caffeinated beverage, could not keep her ready on the dot.

With the chilling weather, he surmises she has come down with a cold or... or the flu. The risk was evident. Still, with all her duties that maid will go off on a wander. Fatigue atop fatigue. Repeatedly to the same route between work. Perhaps a fitness walk? Or -could it be?- to meet someone. The idea itself was a bitter pill to swallow, but upon her reappearance there is always a glow about her. As though freshening up, but if following his assumptions, perhaps an afterglow of-.

He swallowed.

Who would _dare_ court his maid?

John raked his gaze over his rigid students, hands spread wide over the desk, as if to pounce the first sign of guilt. However every one appeared riddled with suspicion. Although they are silently reading, as per his orders, their eyes skip about the room. Licking their lips, finding the exit something delectable.

This is ridiculous. Surely a student would be scandalous for Rose, a maid, to proffer her hand to. Then again, he has never known age to be a matter for her. Or skin for that matter.

Always so friendly, his Rose.

He collapsed into his chair. Time cannot pass slower than here, in his classroom, as Rose lays bedridden mere minutes away.

Curse Jenny. Singing like a bird this morning of it all. Right as John picked up the days lesson, filing the students in, she rushes to him. Feathers fittingly ruffled, breathless and squawking of how Rose fell flat on her face as they were scrubbing the floors only a moment ago. _Right in the filth water, very unbecoming for her lovely appearances._

Needless to say other than her personal opinions of the matter, Jenny rather conveniently, knew nothing of **why** she collapsed.

So, here John waits.

Tapping his fingers. Unbidden images of Rose's features twisted in anguish slided to the forefront of his mind. No hand to hold. John turned to read a personal novel. Ignoring the passage of time. And failing. Feeling impossibly impatient his foot soon joined. The collective sounds bounced off the walls. Whispering in his ear to calm down. He did so with a sigh.

Ten till the end of this session. Releasing the students five minutes early would do no harm. They must only read the remainder of the chapter, and such an assignment can be taken care of during their own time. Right. No harm.

Or he could release them now.

"Class is dismissed!" John announced. And a flood of relief spread like wildfire.

Five... ten. Same difference.

Ever so timidly their shoes dragged across the hardwood floor. Please, _please_, stick a needle in his eye, it would be more bearable.

"No dillydallying," he commanded, herding them through the door. "Off!"

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><p>AN

That awkward moment when I try to abbreviate my fic name with an acronym, and it comes out just as awkwardly long...

**MissShadowBolt**: Thank you! And as my first reviewer for this fic, I shall aim to please!

**Hediru**: Thanks! The fic's definitely going somewhere, and a bit everywhere, after it goes somewhere through the TARDIS. And we all know how that usually goes.

**LilyMayRose**: Thank you! :) :) :) And okay! :) :) :D

**Anonymous**: Ohh Anonymous, you chose that name, Anon. I like it. Not a guest, but a mystery. Thank you for the review! And thank you for the compliment, I'm flattered you appreciate my 'voice' in this.


	3. She Keeps Walking Away

He dreams of her.

Constantly walking away.

Waking life is no different.

From strolling through the halls to idle chatter, Rose always manages to leave before he wishes her to go. He takes comfort in the fact that everyday he faces, she's still there in his life.

Her presence is a gift only he seems to understand, for the others question the friendly behavior of a teacher and his maid. He would ask if they've ever truly spoken to her to question that, then fears they would take advantage of her kindness if they did. Steal what little time John has with Rose. So, she's his secret.

Yet of all times, it is now he questions that gift.

"Gone!?" John shouted at the Matron.

"Yes. No need to fuss." Matron Redfern reprimanded him. "The girl fainted of exhaustion. To better herself, Rose only requires a bit of bedrest. So when she awoke, I asked she free my bed here in the infirmary by napping in her quarters."

"You sent Rose away," he nearly growled. "Walking, with no energy. Did you at least assign her an escort?"

The Matrons eyes hardened. "Rose assured me she was fine on her own, and Mister Smith considering where you stand, I ask that you leave her as such."

He scoffed, leaving the Matron's warning as if it were dust swept off his shoulder.

John intended to head straight to Rose. Treading the school grounds with an expression that just dared onlookers to stop him.

Then he caught her. Not tucked in bed, but heading down that confounded path on the outskirts of the school grounds. Why? Why why why, would she have a tryst with that pretty boy -whomever he is- when she should be doing anything but!

"ROSE!" John thundered.

Rose hopped from the ground out of fright, stumbling for her footing against a tree.

"M- Mister Smith! I was-" Her eyes widened upon the sight of his ire. "...hello."

"Yes. Hello." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, mock-cordial, as he spoke through clenched teeth. "How are you?"

Rose cleared her throat, pushing from the bark to show she had no use for it. "Gooood," she prolonged the word, perplexed by his words to expression ratio. "Thank you for asking." She curtly bowed her head as if nudging the air between them. "And you, Sir?"

"Oh, I am simply brimming with energy." He enthused. "The evening is quite promising, perfect for a long excursion to fulfill a decent amount of exercise, wouldn't you agree?"

She patted his arm, "take a few laps 'round the school for me," and left.

John took the broad steps necessary to stop before her. "I'd much rather have company."

"Okay."

Still she brushed past. So he repeated the movement.

"Rose, where are you off to?"

"Places."

"Really?" He questioned, breathing deeply to refrain the urge to yell. "And who, may I ask, is waiting at these _places_?"

Rose looked him square in the eye and blinked. True to her namesake, she bloomed to life with a smile overtaking her lips. And soon she curled into herself laughing. "You think I'm-?" Rose could no longer speak over the joy swallowing her whole. John's fury fled at the sight.

She wiped a tear. "I'm promised as your maid, John, and yours alone. 'Sides, you can't seriously," she waved a circle at the school. "No bloke in this boring little area is even worth fancying, ta."

Anger washed clean, a manly pride within John swelled at her statement. Then as if expecting such an internal reaction Rose nodded, self approval of a job well-done, and began to walk away.

"But where is your destination?" He stopped her, concern coloring his voice a gentler shade. "Surely you cannot find a breath a fresh air meaningful when you must be resting."

"It's not I'm," she bit her lip. "I'll only be a tick. Trust me, that bed has been calling for hours. I don't plan on ignoring it." Over his shoulder she smiled. "Besides Mister Smith, I do believe the Headmaster wants a word with you."

John felt his stomach hit the dirt. The class he released early, of course consequences would follow. He traced Rose's line of sight and saw Headmaster Rocastle moving with purpose toward them. And as John stood frozen, Rose turned away.

Ill at ease by her departure, John called out, "My word still stands, you must rest, Rose!"

To which Rose giggled back, "I am resting. Fetch your own dinner!"

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><p>AN

Confession. This is my "I'm slacking off" fic. Ya know, if that ingenious title wasn't anything to go by. Haha, I should be doing work...

**Curry**: Thank you! I hope it continues to be so.


	4. Fool Me Once

Rose never lies.

She does, however, offer well crafted excuses.

One morning he had asked, "Rose, where's my biscuit?"

"Ate it." She answered through a mouthful of food.

Although neither of these facts matter, it seems, as Rose is terribly blunt with John.

Be it by personal reasons:

When she entered his room with lunch delivery in hand, John sighed. "How is it I can never find a single pear in this entire school?"

As Rose set up his tea and silverware she said, "I hide them."

Or an answer that's not really an answer at all:

"Rose," he caught her one afternoon in the halls. "I've not questioned it. And there is no time it once pops up as a topic in casual conversation. I cannot help but wonder, however, so I ask now. Where are you going?"

"Out," and she was gone.

Rose's equivocal behavior moves John to the most derisory of actions...

"Mister Smith!" Matron Redfern greeted.

Having hid under the bend of the staircase, John yelped. Scaring the Matron, and more than likely, alerting Rose of his presence.

John's eye locked back on Rose, who he had planned to tail soon, since her chore of scrubbing the floors is near ending. Her last job till dinner, and typically when she exits to that route of hers. Rose smirked at the ground, and John frowned. Had she known he was here?

"In regard to your maid," the Matron whispered. "May I pose a question?"

He stared at said maid a second longer, then faced the Matron. "Yes, you may."

"Well, knowing of her tired state I had offered Rose a cup of tea. To which she accepted and told me _ta_. I scolded her for lack of manners, but the look upon her face as I did has me wondering. She offered no explanation, only apologized. So, I do wish to know if you could confide in me the meaning of her peculiar behavior."

John smirked. "Her family is British, Matron. _Ta_ is informal British speech for an expression of gratitude."

"Well, I suppose I was not wrong in my actions then," the Matron huffed. "I will allow no informalities between myself and the help. Though I thank you for enlightening me."

The Matron left John troubled. It puzzles him, for this isn't the first instance that the Matron and Rose have had an issue. Perhaps their personalities clash. As he ponders the idea, they do appear opposite in many ways.

"Evening, Mister Smith," Rose said in passing.

"Yes, evening," he mumbled through thought.

The Matron being an older civilized woman, and Rose a young somewhat wild thing is one way to observe the situation. Then again, he does not know how they act when alone with one another. Because Rose does have a way of subtly pulling ones strings. She can-

John whirled around to the exit. The flutter of Rose's dress swept through the door just before closing at the far end of the hall. Chance!

But first.

So as to not look overly excited -lest the boys witness foolish behavior from their superiors- John tugged at his lapels then briskly headed her way. The game is afoot.

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><p>AN

Stalker mode: Activate

(Stalker mode? Are there instructions? Does anyone know how to work this thing? *types furiously*)

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you so much for saying so! I was beginning to worry that this was something becoming too ridiculous..


	5. Every Breath You Take

_Crunch._

Ahem... now...

_Crunch crunch crunch._

Blast it all! As colder weather settles, the leaves of the forest fall and dry, creating a hostile environment for silently pursuing Rose.

It is **not** stalking.

One does not stalk one's maid. Especially not one as faithful as Rose. John is worried for her. Yes. Worried. She had collapsed the day before after all...

_Crunch._

Confounded!

A few paces ahead Rose lapsed in her steps. John hid himself behind a tree. Clinging to the bark, and listening intently for her steps to begin again against the noisy ground.

Yet none came.

Surely she would not be so patient with an intruder.

John dared to peek past his haven, but she was gone. Does she walk on air? He heard nothing of her parting!

Having already come too far, John strode on. Embarking on her path blindly, hoping for the best. And the best, apparently, is what he got as he stumbled from the forest onto an old barn. The latch of the door parted, a lock dangling, unhinged from it.

His life answer!

In a barn?

John crept to the opening, allowing his eye to explore its secrets. Yet the darkness inside swallowed everything whole. Well, apart from the most peculiar light.

He could decipher the outline of another entrance facing away from his person, and after a quick check, he confirmed it could not exist. Unless it is another structure. A closet perhaps. Within a barn. Rose must be inside holding a candle for it to be lit so. Ludicrous. Walking all this way to sit inside a closet inside a barn? He knew she was odd, but this is pushing what he would accept.

A closet within a barn. John scratched his head furiously, messing his carefully combed hair. This is the mystery which has plagued him for weeks!?

John tossed the doors out wide. If he must drag her back, revoke her freedom, he will. This must end.

However the wind knocked out of him at the sight. In full light. The closet. It's not a closet at all. The... the... no. He must be dreaming. He approached the object of his fantasy, and found it becoming more of a reality. A daydream. A dream in broad daylight. He never thought he'd see that day.

The magical blue box.

As though it would bite on the wrong move, John reached for it. Cautiously. Tentatively. Wondering if his fingers would pass through the illusion. When it met his touch, he gasped. It _purred_.

His thirst to understand this phenomenon, while unnervingly quenched, did not end there.

John moved around the box to its open doors, and what he saw nearly drove him mad.

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><p>AN

Oh wow. You're all lovely! Such a sudden influx of reviews. You guys made me wrap this chapter up so I could hurry up and respond. Which was weird. Good weird. I love the motivation, and I think I understand why I should review story's I like more often... hm.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you! I'm so glad this is entertaining. :)

**GriffinGirl8655**: Yes... :) It was accidental, actually. I was in the middle of the last chapter when I realized, 'oh, I'm having him basically stalk her, aren't I?' And then there was no getting around it. xD Thank you for the review!

**rpicard06**: That's great! I imagine his nose adorably scrunched up like, "...why?" I don't think I've ever seen a fic that takes his 'no pears' to heart, but I haven't read everything. I hope. Thank you for reviewing!

**I Need To Log In**: Hahaha! I can't tell you how much your name made me giggle. Well. This is me. Continuing this. Thank you for, ya know, 'all caps'ing at me to update.

**Wings of Tears**: Oh, you know. Curiosity killed the cat... too soon? No, but it will go well... Weeeelll, I say it'll go well, but -really- eventually it will be fine. Weeelll, I say fine... Ahem. Thank you for the review!

**TheMoment**: Thank you thank you thank you!


	6. Hand in the Cookie Jar

John Smith is a strange thing.

Sure, she'll wait on hand and foot for him, however in her defence she loves him. No, wait. Not John Smith, the man he once was, the Doctor. In a way caring for John Smith is like caring for the Doctor's pet. She'll get him what he needs. Keep him healthy. But she can't see the Doctor's pet as the Doctor.

Rose really shouldn't call him a pet.

John can be so adorable though. It's too easy! She can manipulate him like any typical human bloke. He can get jealous, _Time Lords don't get jealous, Rose_. Flustered by her brash behavior. And the best of it is, he even comes with common manners. It's like seeing a new side to the Doctor.

Except it's not.

And that's when she's not exactly sure what John Smith is.

There are moments he acts in time with the Doctor. Cool. Collected. Calculating.

Then the next he's tripping over his own words. And she laughs at the stark differences. However sometimes it's nothing humorous at all. How he wields a rifle. Then has a child mirror his movements. Murder the 'enemy' on the 'battleground'.

No one in this era understands why it's wrong. She can't tell _him_ why it's wrong. She knows he thinks it's right. Although that doesn't keep her from trying.

"Know a thing or two about the gun, do you?" Rose asked bitterly, entering his room with the day's meal.

He hummed an affirmative, and began to eat. "It's a skill the young men will find quite handy should the need arise."

"They're children." She stated. "Do they even know the value of a human life to take one? Why do you have to go out there and teach them this? Why can't someone else do it?"

"Rose," his voice was low and dangerous. "That skillset is part of the reason why I have this job now, and I will not discuss my decisions for this position with you."

Rose took a deep breath. "Fine," she responded tightly. "Sod the moral high ground. Your glorious job is so important, far be it for me to judge, _Mister Smith_."

"Yes it is." He replied hotly. "So is yours. So I suggest you _stick to it_."

There are times Rose wishes John Smith acted more like the Doctor. He is his own person, she knows, so why change him? Perhaps for company. His human mind can only comfort her for so long before she longs for familiarity.

It's that line of thought that has her speeding this along. The TARDIS is on emergency power, but Rose visits her religiously. Raiding the libraries for every and anything on the Family of Blood. Maybe some way to track them. Prevent them. Get rid of them early.

Rose doodles notes of important information here and there. Pictures stick to her better than words.

The Family of Blood are incorporeal aliens. No bodies. Greenish-intangible-masses that possess the living to live themselves. For that Rose colored a green marker over the ink dotted outline of a human. Then, feeling satisfied with her description, Rose adds examples off to the side. The Family are short lived without a host, like mayflies or an alien leech, so that's what she depicts. Although poorly in her haste, but she ignores the sloppy lines, cartoon eyes, and moves on.

And two or three weeks of studying aliens who can possess living beings naturally, then one week of distracted curiosity to learn how Cassandra did it on New Earth, had her head spinning. Literally. Rose passed out on the job. Mentally and physically drained, energy drinks now useless against her fatigue, Rose decided to focus more on unwinding. Make the TARDIS her personal playpen, with the occasional book to study here and there. One week of rest, she told herself, then back to her research.

"And twenty three." The Doctor's recording reiterated as she played it on repeat. "If anything goes wrong, if they find us, Rose, then you know what to do. Open the watch."

She paused there, sitting back in the pilots seat. Such a serious message. Couldn't he have smiled at least once? Staring at his 'we're at war' face, didn't do much to lighten her spirits. Maybe she could trick John into wearing a pinstriped suit. Tweed, she decided, doesn't suit him. And if anything, John could learn a thing or two from the Doctor.

...But as John stands gaping inside the TARDIS doors... and she's in a camisole and sweat pants... and that's very much him running away, Rose sort of squashes that thought dead.

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><p>AN

As I graffiti Bad Wolf wherever possible, I wonder, do those that live in Norway graffiti Dalig Ulv? Is this a thing?

**geogirl2014**: Okay :s thank you for the review! And that adorable little love muffin is none other than Ten. A wild Ten in his natural habitat. Such grace. Such beauty. And if you squint, you'll witness the subtle courtship dance of the Ten as it spots a Rose in the wilderness. -And I am so sorry! That got away from me! XD

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Sweet! Because it's about to take a tumble. As always, thank you for the review!

**Curry**: Yeah, I think a bit more of the Doctor would have bled through if Rose had still been around. And I am incredibly glad you caught that about Rose because -well- this chapter! I'm actually surprised you caught that. Most others would have blown it off as only humor. Keen eye. Thank you for reviewing!

**GriffinGirl8655**: What? Stalk? Follow? Noooo, John doesn't do that! He's just worried about Rose. I mean, look at the way he hides behind that tree so she doesn't notice him. He is concerned for her safety. Yep. I'm sorry, it seems I'm on sarcastic mode today, but hopefully you got the joke xD Thank you for reviewing!


	7. Curiosity and the Cat

"John!"

She's shouting.

That fine, comfortable painting of reality John's always admired has been smeared with a permanent black. And _she's_ shouting.

Visions of man men, immodest dress, and magical machines should remain so. In vision. A pastime of the night. Not real.

But as she caught him by the hand, her face flushed, anxiety in full, John found himself at a standstill.

"John."

"You may not address me as such." He ripped his hand away, and immediately regretted it as she flinched.

"I'm sorry," a frown tugged at her lips, and she's pleading with him. "Come back. Let me explain."

"Explain!?" John bellowed, "my dreams, everything I knew to be playful thought is on full display. Including you! Who are you!?"

Rose cowered beneath him, her eyes darting about the area. And it was then, he realized, she's probably not the least bit frightened by him. Especially when she began pulling his arm, "I'll tell you once we're inside."

John stood unyielding. "You will tell me here."

"One or both of us is going to be thrown into the looney bin, standing out here, shouting about this." Her voice was calm, full of an authority he's never heard from any woman of her status. "Follow me now, Mister Smith."

He moved far from her being. "You have a point." John conceded and reluctantly headed back to that abandoned barn. "However, we shall discuss this on my terms, and I expect detailed answers."

"Ohh," Rose grumbled beneath her breath. "Misogynistic arse."

"I beg your pardon!?" John yelped, outraged. "Where does this language spawn from!?"

Rose stomped past. "Learned it when I met you."

His jaw set, John decided to be the better man, and not continue their bickering. The only sounds between them the crunching of leaves below. The nerve, John thought, she has no right to be upset.

Halfway back to the TARDIS Rose began chewing her thumbnail. Dreams. Rose remembers the times John periodically mentioned the Doctor from dreams. However, dream all he wants, she's fairly certain from the Doctor's recording that John can't remember through natural means. Only when he opens the watch will the Doctor return. So if he wants answers, that's all well and okay, but...

She glanced at him. Shoulders stiff, hands clenched, and fire practically spouting from every step.

...will he accept it?

"What?" He hissed at her staring.

And again she was reminded of how much she actually cared. Rose tossed her hands up, exasperated. "Nothin'!"

Bad move. John's eyes fell to her attire. The faintest blush as he wrinkled his nose. "What **are** you wearing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sweat pants, an' a camisole, your highness."

"Underthings," he scoffed.

When they reached the barn, Rose allowed John to enter first. Manners, manners, manners. Then, door fixed shut, she rounded on him.

"Underthings, as you so eloquently put it, in this time are far less comfortable. This. _This_ is casual. Besides I wasn't planning on running around ruddy 1913 until you blundered in, and turned-" she grunted in frustration, only just counting off the consequences of his actions. "-my free time into me blowing this whole cover-up! Great! Let's go ahead and ruin the whole thing, why don't we!? Now where—!" realising she had been shouting, Rose paused. Hand midair. Distress from the TARDIS being discovered, work, protecting John, work, research, _everything_ fueled her need to _explode_. _Calm down_. Rose shuffled around, upturned an old bucket, sat atop it, and lowered her volume. "Where do you want to start?"

"If you're quite finished." He muttered, then began, "I demand to know why my minds creation has found itself into the waking world." Unable to hide the tremor in his voice, he pointed at the blue box, and feeling hysterical said, "this is sorcery."

"Um, no," Rose pinched herself to contain a laugh. "An' might want to rearrange that other bit."

John's eyes narrowed. She's making a joke of this all? "Rearrange?"

"Yeah, she's uh, that's the TARDIS," she sounded fond, John's jaw nearly dropped at her apparent insanity. Naming blue boxes? "She's always been real. She's um," Rose squeezed her eyes shut, and snapped her fingers, attempting to retrieve a memory. Her eyes snapped open. "Sintient! Yeah. She's alive. Wouldn't be here and alive ourselves if not for her."

He faltered, face transforming from disbelief to horror. "Ourselves?"

"We were being chased," she stated. Already John could see the tail end of a memory -no- a dream. "They're called the Family. Wanted the Doctor's body to live longer. So, we ran, and the Doctor, he, um, he hid himself."

"The Doctor...?" his mouth felt dry, but he must know. "Who is this physician?"

"Most just say doctor who, but, um..." She chuckled, more nervous than anything else. "He's here." Rose retrieved a fob watch from her pocket, holding it reverently with her fingertips, as she proffered it for him to observe.

"Hmph," he huffed. "You spoke as though his being was of great importance." John snatched it from her. Flipping it over, blinking hard, as he had trouble focusing on the object. "This watch is living? As the box?"

"Guess you could say that. That's the Doctors consciousness." She waved her hand vaguely about. "S'potent, or something. The Family can smell it, but while the watch's closed, he's safely hidden." She licked her dry lips, seeing no other way around this. "His body couldn't be stashed away so easily though, it had to be protected and cared for with um... with an alias... a- a replacement mind..."

"An alias?" His eyebrows shot to his forehead, admiration hitting him despite the circumstances. "A fabricated consciousness to occupy his true form? Are you telling me he is concealed in plain sight?"

Rose bit her lips shut.

When she failed to answer, John's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. He dropped the fob watch as though the cogs burned of lava. Rose scrambled for the precious item, clutching it close as she stood before him.

"No." John hoarsely denied, then returned with a firmer, "**No**."

"I'm sorry," Rose murmured, staring at the ground.

"Y-" the wind knocked out of him from such a discovery. He spoke, dumbfounded, "had you any plans to inform me of..." he tripped over his words mid-rant, unable to say it specifically, "of this!?"

She shook her head, too shamefaced to look at him directly. "This wasn't part of his instructions."

"Instructions!?" He shouted incredulously. "I come with a manual? What am I!?" Now he was hysterical, "a machine!? A toy to wind!?"

"No!" Rose shouted in his defence. Except. She's never thought much of what he is herself. A program? He was created, "The TARDIS made you. Wrote you a backstory. Who you believe you are is who you've always been."

"_Made_," and his words were venom, "is that what I've been to you? A temporary replacement? A mind to occupy the body?" then it dawned on him. "This is why you've always felt distant. You care not for me, but him. The body." John suddenly plucked a pair of rusty sheep shears from the wall. Turning the point with a dangerous look in his eye. "If I were to—"

"NO!" Rose seized the potential weapon from his grasp.

John saw it then. An emotion flickering across her face that not once has shown itself before now. Winter settled early in his heart at the discovery of where hers truly resided. John clenched the fabric at his chest. A heart that is not even his, yet the pain will not vanish. Instead, it taunts him. A fake.

"Nothing about me is real," John spoke, resignation set in his tone.

"No," Rose tried to reason, but even she was grasping at straws . "You're real. You are. But..."

He shook his head. "...but I'm not real to you."

* * *

><p>AN

Doctor meet Doctor. It somehow reminds me of that scene in Spies Like Us. "Doctor" "Doctor" "Doctor" "Doctor" (can we all just forget that one awkward flirtatious "_Doctor_"?)

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you! Your enthusiasm is always welcome. :D

**Pegasusfeather7**: Really? That's great, thank you! :)

**GriffinGirl8655**: Haha, yep! Glad you liked that. Thank you for the review!


	8. I Am Whatever You Say I Am

Nothing ever came to be the same after their encounter in the barn the previous day. Knowing his taste is off a borrowed tongue. Sight through anothers eyes. Touch with a strangers fingers.

All violating when accompanied with the truth.

Yet he couldn't help but feel selfish.

The sensations are his to experience. John is very much alive, despite his circumstances of coming to be, and he refuses to be shadowed by a man -no, alien- called the Doctor.

"Evening, Mister Smith," Rose greeted that morning, breakfast tray in hand.

Well, said experiences are fine, until it comes to her. Rose knows all of the mysteries involving that accursed Doctor. She is the one who put the shadow there. The only other one who can perceive his body is not his own. The one he must either overcome or ignore to live on pretending to have not known of the Doctor. And -really- he can only do one without going mad.

"Evening," he returned. Still coming to grips with his new niche of reality, John wondered how to treat, not only her, but the others. All the real people compared to one imposter. A wolf in sheep's clothing among a flock of pigeons.

"How are you?" John used the expression as a test, and could feel the walls judging him. A panic gripped him. Nervous energy spilling to his legs as he paced the floor. "More importantly, how must I live lying to everyone I know?"

Rose itched her forehead, taking a moment to think. "It's not lying. You've never been lying. You're just doing what you're programmed to do. Be a- a bloke... programme... thing."

"Program... program?" John fisted his pajama top. "How do I understand such terminology!? That is another thing; I do not question you as much as I should. How is it I comprehend your... your Wonderland of reality!?" John walked a circle around Rose.

"M'not sure." Rose watched him warily, recognising a man on the edge. "Probably bits of the Doctor projecting onto you."

"You're never sure of anything. Are you not my keeper?"

"For the Doctor, yes. I never planned to be so involved with _your_ life. But I'm your maid. The TARDIS decided what I would be to you, and that's it."

"My life is fabricated," admitting that still felt like a blow to the chest, "and you simply dance around facts I believe to be truth?"

"Yeah." She replied, a hint of defiance. "First thing you did when we met was thank me, your maid, for," she mimicked his voice, "_accompanying me on this trying journey._ I was forced into this life. You were tailored to it. You can live comfortably. You can fit in. Me? I'm an outsider. Yes, I'm dancing around your life. To protect the Doctor, what other choice did I have?"

John backed from her then. Reality a hard slap to the face. Rose is his most trusted maid. A young girl he witnessed blossom into this flower of a woman. Lies. Their companionship has been time under an eye glass. For him years. For her weeks. And the worst part being-

"I have existed no more than a month?" He asked, scarcely believing the words. The knowledge paralyzed him. What he knew, and what he aspired to accomplish crumpled at the feet of how insignificant his span of life has been thus far. What's more is John could not find it within himself to discover a new meaning in this revelation. After all, the further he dug for an acceptance of this, the further he fell. His eyes flew about the room, landing on his dresser. John slid the drawer open, numbly searching its contents, as he fumbled with the buttons of his top. "These matters need not be addressed now. I must... work." Work. Something concrete. Something he need not question. "Yes. Work."

Rose was reluctant to leave him in such a mess. His hands shaking, eyes wide, and voice quavering. However, she knew if she attempted conversation now, it would only succeed in making John worse. "Can I get you anything? Maybe..." she poked his biscuit. "M- more food or—"

"You've done quite enough," he told her absently, already half-dressed. So, with a lump in her throat, she left.

* * *

><p>AN

I had a nice cozy plot for this story. Mostly fluff. Then reality just sort of cuddled it, and here we are. What is wrong with me? I actually have another fic in the works where Ten and Rose are kids, and that's suppose to be strict fluff, but then it drowned in an angst puddle, and why can't I just write happy? Maybe because it never feels happy if there isn't any work to achieve it... still want strict fluff somewhere...

Also, I got lost in -weeell- a lot of things for a... week? days? How long's it been? I've been catching up on gaming. It's been intense. Mostly because college finals are coming up fast, and I'm pretty confident my government class is just going to be- well- beautiful. It's going to be beautiful. Yeah. That sounds better than the string of obscenities that just flew through my head... I dislike my professor's teaching style... Ahem! Moving on!

**Iron Mikan Frost-Elric-Uzumaki**: Thank you! Love your pen name btw.

**GriffinGirl8655**: Aw, yeah, accepting he's real is going to be a tough pill for John to swallow after this. Thank you for the review!

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Poor John's got it tough. Get's happier for him later though ;) As always, Thanks for reviewing!

**Curry**: Yep, because John being oblivious isn't actually that fun. Thank you for reviewing!

**FRENCH TOAST**: Thank you very much! Haha, French Toast and the one above you is Curry, hmm... food. Interesting. xD I hope you continue to enjoy where this fic is going. :)

**Pegasusfeather7**: Ah, true, but I'm afraid John needs to fall a bit more before Rose can try to pick him up. :) Thank you for reviewing!

**Kl**: Oh hey! Kl! Welcome back! Well... welcome to here? Yes. Welcome! Thanks for that tidbit, identity crisis is a tough idea to work the kinks out on. Hopefully this goes well. And thank you for the review!


	9. Falling

"Mister Smith, sir, might you wish to start the lesson?" Young Timothy asked. A representative for the rest of the students who knew not what to voice aloud upon the sight of their distraught instructor.

John Smith with his hands folded over one another against his forehead, and eyes closed, hadn't spoken since a 'good morning' he muttered to one of his students as they poured into the room.

Lesson? He must fill their minds full of knowledge. A laughable cause. What knowledge is in John Smith's possession that did not derive from the databanks of a machine? Never truly understood. Never truly taught. One who has not been taught should not be allowed to teach. Perhaps instead the children could download his mind's content. Understand as he has. And then what? There is no imagination in uniform education. John scoffed, his statement is no more accurate than now. He's no imagination to speak of. His wonderful dreams, so terrible, so fantastic. Mere memories ghosting to the façade of someone real.

And for that matter, who is John to the living world? All he's known is a false life. False friends. False identity. Who's to say what he see's now isn't the same? After all his life before Farringham still feels so genuine.

The door banged open. John peered up in time to see Rocastle striding across the room.

"Mister Smith, might I have a word outside?" Rocastle requested.

John nodded then obediently proceeded out the door.

"Am I to believe your pupil?" He harshly whispered in the empty halls, red-faced, not at all hiding his rage.

John blinked. "Sorry?"

He took a deep, anger-shaken breath. "Your pupil, Mister Smith, arrived at my office to inform me his instructor had yet to begin instruction."

John opened and closed his mouth, no excuses falling from his lips. "A thousand apologies, sir."

"No need." Rocastle bit back. "It has been more than an hour of you twiddling your thumbs. I shall tend to your class for the remainder of the day. Return to your quarters at once." He set on hand on the doorknob to leave, then added, "I expected better of you, Mister Smith."

Rocastle did not punctuate his words with a slammed door as he walked inside, instead closing it with expected force. The act stung John. Like surrender, leaving John as a lost cause. Unwanted.

* * *

><p>Rose traced the panels of John's door. He'd been dismissed for the day, no doubt thanks to her. She thought it appropriate to at least fetch him some refreshments. Tea. Normally he loves small things like this on an off day, but does he care to face her at the moment? Even for a simple delivery she worries what else could go wrong. Rose twisted around to lean against the wall outside his room. He could have lived the entire hoax out blissfully unaware. Never knowing he wears a mask. No one can see it anyway. She shouldn't have said anything. Should've lied through her teeth when he stumbled upon the TARDIS at least, convince him it's a dream. Something. Anything but the truth.<p>

Rose lifted her head, back erect.

Sod the possibilities. She was careless. He knows. Now what?

Rose stared at the tray in her hand, the liquid within the mug sloshing with her nervous hand.

It all depends on how he lives with it. The TARDIS created him, surely she foresaw this happening. He'll be reasonable. She only needs him to accept this then continue his content human life. Basically he's always been centered around his work anyway. It'll be fine.

Meanwhile, inside the room John sat slumped against his desk. All the skill of a teacher, yet he could not even do that properly. An automobile with a missing wheel, what use is he? John's focus wanes on the importance of his career as his selfish thoughts swirl around recent news. Therefore John strains to forget the truth. Forget and move on. There is no palpable difference in knowing his origins anyway.

Except it's like breathing.

When constantly aware of it suddenly one cannot do it properly. The force of air coursing through the nose, filling the lungs. Too fast. Too slow. Too difficult to set an even pace. Too difficult to inhale enough. Minuscule nostrils sucking in little sips with every deep breath he takes.

John opened his mouth and gulped in air. And the air escaped as an acid laced laugh.

Not even his body, but he must maintain it. That is his purpose. Not the professor status he has been elevated to. No. He is a caretaker. Why must he worry for more than what others expect of him? Why fret over the details?

A simple answer to a simple question; because it's his life.

Because _he_ wants to teach.

Because _he_ wants to **live**. Nothing more, nothing less.

John deserves so much more, for he never carried a craving for anything extravagant. He aspired to retire old, happy, and married. Maybe even bouncing a grand-baby on his knee. A formula so heartwarmingly uncomplicated his eyes watered at the thought of it possibly being out of his reach. However, that's preposterous, no one can crush his dreams. No one. He will not allow it. With this recycled face he's been given, John dares to feel a greed for normalcy. No fob watches or magical boxes. Only a maid who is no more than she appears, and a career to complete it.

Yet, is the greed even his own? A blue box spun his every tick together. Any thought is not even his own. What's the point in being greedy? What's the point in breaking from his chains, when that is what has been programmed into him? Even the most outlandish retaliation he can imagine to create his own person has been planted into his mind.

John pounded his fists against his desk, items atop it clattering, yet remaining stationary. Not enough. He swiped his arms across the surface. Thin papers fluttering, trinkets angrily pelting the floorboards, delicate glass shattering. Ebbing away his internal struggle with a chaos he can see and understand. The glass was weak, so it shattered. Cause and effect. Easy. So easy, John suddenly wanted to fall and be that glass. It's conflict with the ground lasted for only seconds. Painless compared to what he's battling now.

"John!" Rose stumbled into the room, panic-stricken.

"Rose," he gasped.

She took in the state of his immediate area. "John..." She murmured, set a tray down, then crossed the room to pick at the mess.

John felt a pang of shame that she caught him in the midst of a fit. He kept his gaze trained on the ground. He's aware Rose must feel responsible as his keeper for the emotions he cannot control, on the contrary, he respects that she communicated the truth. She has no reign over how he reacts to it. However the words he hoped would ease her worry cluttered at his gritted teeth. Blame wanted to fire from his mouth. Rose put this on him, but John refused to hurt her for it. Although, it is her fault. He was fine until she coddled blue boxes, and men in watches.

John could feel his muscles pulsing with the urge to paint his room with destruction. For fear of what would happen should she remain in his presence, John left.

Only to have Rose follow.

* * *

><p>AN

That awkward moment when I'm writing, and I forget my mum's Mexican.

"What's another word for mess?"

"Tiradero."

"...Mum."

Finals are soon, and I've got quite a bit to wrap up. I say this because my mind's crafty and gifts me a special brand of writers block when I know I have a ton of things that need to be done, so no promises on when the next update will be. Until then, has anyone read The Truth Is by Khatt? Beautiful! xD Also, I enjoyed Spring Conditions by Strange Charmed. Or if you're a bit risque how about Incurable by rosa acicularis?

If anyone knows adorable/cool/depressing/awesome fics please feel free to share it in the reviews. And Human Nature fics are especially welcome.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you! I'm glad this is going well. :)

**Kl**: No need to apologise. Any and every bit of help is welcome with open arms. I'm just being childish and tetchy with wishing this fic was a 'no angst' thing, since I've been trying to make at least one fic that doesn't go off a feels cliff somewhere, and is 'aww' all the way through. But this one is definitely angst, so I must thank you for the reference to CAL, because analyzing that is helping. :) Hah, and I'm glad you point out the small development. I threw the last chapter up as a quick 'is anyone still reading?' Which came up positive with two reviews and a some follows, so I'm glad. Thank you for reading!


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